


Creep

by wittlenell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, College AU, Enj is naked in it, I'm not often an angst man but this happened so, M/M, Modern AU, Trans!Grantaire, also this is definitely Creep as in like the song, but this specific AU has trans R, like Enj is always trans, trans!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 03:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittlenell/pseuds/wittlenell
Summary: Grantaire is an artist; Enjolras is an unexpected model.





	Creep

“Just lock up the studio on your way out, alright?”

“Whatever.”

The door shut behind the professor, leaving Grantaire alone in the dim studio. The only light left on was just above his work station, illuminating both the easel and his hands, which were covered in charcoal. He worked on in silence, sketching on page after page, trying to capture something perfect that wasn’t quite coming out. 

Page one was a mess of scribbles and vague images of bodies.

Page two was a tree that ended up smeared across half the page.

Page three was a chest with vines wrapped around so tightly it bruised.

Page four was a face that was spilling with black from the eyes, curly hair big and abundant atop its head.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and he nearly fell off his stool. He looked towards the door, squinting to look through the window beside the frame.

There stood a figure, looking back at him. It waved, pointing to the door insistently. 

“What the fuck,” He breathed out. He stood, setting his material down and walking over. He opened the door roughly, “What do you want? It’s after hours.”

“You’re Grantaire, Junior visual arts student,” The man in the doorway said, “You put out a flyer weeks ago asking for models.”

“Yeah, weeks ago,” He rolled his eyes, “Opportunity over.” He let go of the door, starting back towards his station. When it didn’t slam shut, he looked back over his shoulder to find the man, with blonde curls spilling down around his shoulders and blue eyes piercing through the dark, holding the door open.

“Draw me.” It was so simple yet so firm. There was fire behind it, burning just below the surface-- enough to make his skin glow with it. Grantaire couldn’t help but gawk as his mind raced.

_ He’s gorgeous. This is stupid. Why should I take up time and materials just for this kid? He’s so compelling. I wouldn’t mind seeing him naked. No, that’s weird, that’s not even the point of this. That’s unprofessional. That’s why people think you’re fucking weird. Don’t be fucking weird. _

“Fine. Undress.”

“That fast?” His stride staggered, staring at Grantaire, “You don’t even know my name.”

“The flyer was for nude models, I wrote that, you knew that when you came here,” He said, ripping off the page he had been working on. He looked towards the blonde, “And I do know your name. Enjolras. You’re that loud gay man that runs a political party.”

“It’s a student organization, it’s not--” Enjolras started to argue then stopped, sighing heavily. He pursed his lips, “That’s fine.”

“Is it? Because if you don’t want to, you can head home.”

“I can do it. I want to.”

Grantaire grabbed a block and moved it closer to his easel, setting a stage for Enjolras to pose on. He messed with the lights before returning to his stool. He wiped his hands on his pants, grabbing different tools to sketch with, not quite sure what he intended this to look like. He forgot he had even put up those flyers; he had ended up using one of his roommates as a model when nobody responded. 

“Why did you need a model?”

He looked up, finding Enjolras standing on the block, completely naked. His hair glowed, giving him a halo effect under the light. His face was soft and sharp at the same time, and he above all else could be described as dainty. Dainty and grounded. He looked back to his canvas fidgeting with the pencil in his hand before his eyes could go any lower.

“I had an assignment,” He shrugged, “I needed to come in with different poses to show my professor to compare to sketches I did last year.” He glanced at Enjolras, “Why did you respond? ...Now?”

“I was scared,” He said bluntly, “I thought it was fascinating and I almost answered. But I was too scared. So now I’m doing it because I shouldn’t have to be scared.”

“Why would you be scared?”

“People don’t like people like me.”

In that moment, it struck Grantaire, as he dared to finally look at his model, that there was something different about the boy’s body. Something that made Grantaire want to weep upon seeing, but instead he set his jaw, practically chewing on his tongue as he stared with envy and relief all at once.

“You’re trans,” He muttered.

“Incredibly.”

“Alright, well,” He shook his head, shaking away all his thoughts, “Sit down. Cross your legs, and hug yourself with one arm directly across your chest.”

Enjolras did as instructed, holding the pose as Grantaire sketched quickly. He lost himself in his work, focusing on the lines and curves and angles more than he had focused on anything in the past year. It was therapeutic, it was something he didn’t realize he had been looking for. Finally, he took off his jacket and held it out towards Enjolras.

“Cover up and relax,” Grantaire said, eyes locked on the canvas.

“Thank you,” Enjolras gingerly took the jacket, slipping it on and standing. He began to stretch.

_ Don’t be weird. _

“When you’re ready, I want you to sit with your legs open,” He spoke up.

_ You idiot. _

“Alright,” Enjolras said simply. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” He added, “Just… something that can be a partner piece to the last sketch. You know, ownership… or whatever."

Enjolras moved gracefully into a new position. He sat with his legs wide open, his hands against his thighs as he leaned forward. It almost looked like a challenge, a dare to say something about his body.

Grantaire took a moment then began the process once more. He never let his eyes linger too long on the model, anxiety brushing his arms and sending sweat down his back if he felt like he appeared to be leering. He would shake out his hands whenever they began to tremble, the silence consuming him every so often.

“So, how long have you been on T?” He figured if he addressed it head on, it wouldn’t feel so awkward to just have somebody’s _ business _on display for him.

“Two years,” Enjolras answered after a brief pause. 

“Only two years,” Grantaire furrowed his brow, “Really?”

“What do you mean _ only _?”

“Could've fooled me if I wasn't staring at your vagina,” He shrugged, then huffed out a laugh as if he could _ feel _ Enjolras rolling his eyes.

“What about you?” He asked.

Grantaire froze for a second, eyes glancing towards him.

“What?”

“What about you?” He repeated, “What's your story?”

“I'm… not on hormones,” He bit the inside of his cheek, fidgeting with his pencil.

“Not at all?” Enjolras' eyes widened, surprise slipping into his voice unchecked, “But you're so… sharp.”

“I micro dosed for awhile, but it's not-- I mean-- I've always been pretty… naturally angular,” He adjusted his position, bringing one leg up underneath him, “I don't know. It's whatever.”

Enjolras watched him for a moment. He fell silent, his shoulders drawing up with agitation, and he set his jaw. Suddenly, he wouldn't dare look at Enjolras, and the blonde could not for the life of him figure out why.

“I'm not creepy.”

“Pardon?”

“I'm not a creep, you came to me.”

“I never said you were a creep,” Enjolras frowned.

“You didn't have to,” Grantaire stood abruptly, turning the canvas towards Enjolras, “Here.”

It was gorgeous. It was a one line drawing, causing a messy look that was absolutely captivating. Despite all the overlapping lines, the eyes felt so clear and were staring straight through the canvas and back at the viewer. Enjolras knew it was a drawing of himself, but he felt intimidated just by looking at it. He didn’t know how Grantaire managed to capture such energy in one drawing but God, it was jaw-dropping.

“You can keep it if you want,” Grantaire said, setting it back on the easel before digging around in his bag. 

“You made it, though,” Enjolras immediately began to argue.

“You wanted it,” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slipped what looked like a flask into his back pocket, swinging his bag onto his back. He looked at Enjolras as he worked at getting a cigarette out, “I don’t need that.”

“Grantaire,” He said incredulously.

“I _ don’t _ need that,” He insisted, “It’s not-- mine to keep.”

Before Enjolras could say another word, Grantaire was headed out the door quickly, already lighting the cigarette. He took the stairwell out of the building, taking frantic drags. He started to cough, hacking into his elbow and nearly doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. He grunted, throwing the door open and letting fresh air hit his face. He took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then brought the cigarette back to his lips.

_ I didn’t lock the studio. _


End file.
